


and i wanna fly and never come down

by skjei



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Minor Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, dylan is a mess im sorry, hes so pure protect him, i just really love dylan strome, this is mature because of the topic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-19 01:29:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17592140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skjei/pseuds/skjei
Summary: He’s sixteen, missing trigonometry, and it slips right through his ears because surely he didn’t hear the principal right. He hearsbridgeandDylanandwith herand Connor can’tbreathe.





	and i wanna fly and never come down

**Author's Note:**

> a day early for bell let's talk day. you're not alone, remember that. 
> 
> warnings are all in the tags, read at your own risk.

They meet when they’re seven. 

Connor’s sitting on a bench, taping his stick (practice doesn’t start for at least fifteen more minutes) and a boy walks up to him. He’s smaller, has longer hair. 

“Can I use the tape after you?” he asks simply, and Connor nods. It’s a stupid fucking exchange, because there’s so much tape to spare around but Connor doesn’t mind. 

The boy smiles. “I”m Dylan,” he holds out his hand, and Connor drops his tape to shake it. It’s warm, he notices. Dylan sits down beside him. 

Connor falters. “I’m Connor,” his voice is higher than Dylan’s, but they’re seven, he doesn't really think about that. Dylan smiles again, crooked. Connor decides he likes it, and Dylan leans over next to him, tying his skates and Connor continues to tape his stick, gives the tape to Dylan when he’s done. 

 

They play together for a few years. 

Connor likes center, and so does Dylan, but they’re young, so they’re switching positions easily. They’re eight, playing shitty teams and Dylan, on the wing, gets an assist on every goal Connor scores at center. It’s just - no one can really explain it. They’re eleven, they go to their first tournament, with their parents. 

They take the train together, both of Connor’s parents and Dylan’s dad sitting in the seats across from them. Connor and Dylan are pressed together in the two seater, and Connor double takes at his parents and then back to Dylan. 

He leans on Dylan. “Where’s your mom?” he asks, cluelessly, because he’s eleven and it seems like the right question to ask. Dylan shifts, tracing the sides of his notebook mindlessly. 

Dylan breathes. “Said she couldn’t come,” Dylan’s voice seems different and Connor notices, but Dylan lets him lean into him and Connor drifts off into a content sleep. 

 

Connor’s been living with a cloud. 

He’s not sure what it is, because he’s twelve, but it’s just this haze that follows him wherever he goes. It doesn’t really bother him, because he’s used to it, think everyone feels the way he does. 

It’s just - he feels it in his bones when he looks at certain people or hears them speak. Like - he’ll look at the girl that one of his teammates says has a crush on him and it’s like he can’t see. It’s a fog, covering his eyes, and it’s persistent. 

He gets nailed one day, at a hockey game, and his teammates fight back because it’s _dirty,_ and Dylan skates over to him, leans over him. Connor feels like he’s being shaken - and maybe it’s because Dylan is actually shaking him, he’s on the verge of unconsciousness, and he just doesn’t want to move. So he doesn’t. 

He can’t feel for a minute, just barely seeing Dylan crouched over him.

He feels numb. 

It’s a nice change.

 

It’s extra cloudy when he gets the called to the office about Dylan’s mom. 

He’s sixteen, missing trigonometry, and it slips right through his ears because surely he didn’t hear the principal right. He hears _bridge_ and _Dylan_ and _with her_ and Connor can’t _breathe._ He’s thinking about _Dylan_ , his heads hurts and his chest is tight and he can’t even possibly guess what _he_ feels right now. Connor just - he feels the haze in his head, behind his eyes, and he rubs his face and he’s still sitting in the metal chair. The principal and his mother - whenever she got there - are staring at him intently, expectantly, and Connor shakes his head because he doesn’t think he can say anything at all. He sees his mother rub her eyes and Connor can’t _be here._

His mother takes him home after that, leaves him to go grocery shopping. Connor knocks a lamp over in his room, buries his face in his pillow, and screams. Because fuck _everything._

__

__Dylan stays over the next night, and it’s not planned._ _

__Connor's on his laptop, home alone and mindlessly scrolling through YouTube because fuck homework, when he hears the doorbell ring. He makes his way calmly to the front door, and his breathing is stopped when he opens the door. Because _oh my god,_ it’s Dylan, and he looks _broken._ _ _

__His hair is a mess, like he hasn’t attempted to tame it in days, and he’s only wearing a long sleeve shirt despite it being pretty much zero degrees. His hands are shaking and his eyes are red._ _

__Connor doesn’t realize he hasn’t said anything until Dylan does. “C-connor,” he manages and Connor’s heart _breaks_ , breaks into a million pieces, because Dylan sounds so small and he doesn’t know what to _do._ _ _

__Connor does know he can open the door for him, though, so he does. “Here, Dyl,” takes Dylan’s arm, pulls him gently into his house, shutting the door quickly. Dylan’s still shivering after Connor closes it, so Connor wraps his arm around Dylan, at his shoulders, guides him toward his room. Dylan breathes._ _

__“Can I stay over?” Dylan squeaks, and Connor barely hears him but nods._ _

__“‘Course you can, Dyl,” Connor replies easily, because why the fuck would he say no after - well, he wouldn’t say no in the _first_ place, but he - Connor doesn’t know. _ _

__Connor brings Dylan to his room and sits him on his bed and it’s quiet, Connor only hearing Dylan’s harsh breathing and the howling knocking on the shutters. He grabs a blanket hanging from his desk chair and wraps it over Dylan, and Dylan still won’t _look_ at him. Connor just wants him to talk, _really_ talk to him, but instead he watches Dylan hug himself as he lays down on Connor’s bed, shifting toward the wall to make room. Connor lays down beside him, crosses his arms over his chest. Connor just - he doesn’t know what to say. _ _

__He hears Dylan draw a shaky breath. “I don’t know what to do with myself anymore,” and it’s quiet, so quiet, that Connor can barely hear him. Connor hates - he hates the universe for choosing Dylan, of all people. Dylan deserves _none of this._ He feels the rustling of the pillow they’re sharing as Dylan shakes his head. _ _

__Connor doesn’t know how to respond. “You’re here,” he manages and it’s just not enough but Connor _means_ it, but he thinks Dylan might need a reminder. Dylan grabs the comforter in response, pulls it over them and Connor switches the lamp off beside them, and it’s dark now. It’s dark, but Connor can feel Dylan’s presence everywhere, heat radiating off of his body pressed into Connor’s, but it’s dark and Connor still feels the fog behind his eyes. _ _

__They fall asleep that way, Connor fighting not to fall off the edge of the bed and Dylan pressed into his side until Dylan’s dead asleep, turning every once in awhile to find a good position._ _

__It’s hours later when Dylan’s tucked toward the wall, away from Connor and Connor has room, but it’s cold. He feels Dylan shift before he hears a sound - not a whimper, but close to it - and Connor’s half awake._ _

__Dylan’s breathing is heavier now. “Connor, where’d you go?” he asks, panicked and quiet and Connor only leans toward him, drapes his arm over Dylan’s waist._ _

__Connor fees Dylan tense for a minute before he sighs. “M’right here, Dylan, right here,” and Connor hopes Dylan knows that._ _

__-_ _

__Dylan’s not sick. At least, that’s what the doctor tells Connor._ _

__He goes with Dylan, Dylan’s dad and his own mom to the doctor a week after Dylan’s mother’s funeral, and Dylan looks yellow. Connor comes into the examination room, with Dylan, and he manages to stay for a few minutes before the doctor asks him to please leave._ _

__“It’ll only be a couple minutes,” the doctor says when Connor protests, and Dylan fumbles with the hem of his t-shirt, shoots Connor a strained smile. Connor returns it, hesitantly closes the door behind him. Dylan feels cold when Connor leaves, thinks it’s just a coincidence._ _

__He feels like a child when the doctor looks at him, and Dylan can’t help but think about how much he’s been acting like one recently._ _

__“Well, Mr. Strome, you’re healthy,” the doctor says heartily, and Dylan chooses to believe him, like he has the choice. Dylan nods understandingly, feels so small, the way the doctor looks at him._ _

__“You feeling okay? Stable?” the doctor inquires and Dylan nods, and if there was a word that was the complete opposite from what Dylan felt, _stable_ would be that word. He hopes the doctor can’t tell. _ _

__“You’ve got some good people in your life, right? Ones that’ll help you through this?” and the doctor is so vague and Dylan still feels a knife go through his chest._ _

__“I’ve got Connor,” is what Dylan is saying before he really thinks it through, and that gets a small smile out of the doctor because, behold, he speaks. The doctor nods, content._ _

__“Yeah. Good friend, he is?” and Dylan blinks, because that’s so _not it_. He’s just - him and Connor are just - they’re just _them,_ Connor and Dylan, McDavid and Strome. They don’t really put a technical term to it. Dylan nods, though, because clarification is key when you want to leave the fucking examination room. _ _

__It works, because Dylan’s free to go and Connor’s waiting outside the room, picking at his cuticles. Dylan’s dad is calling Dylan over, so he leaves Connor standing by the door. Connor approaches the doctor in the room, stacking papers._ _

__Connor crosses his arms. “Is Dylan sick?” he asks and the doctor is startled, turns to Connor abruptly. Connor hears the back of his head telling him to not be a douche, but how far will that take him. The doctor laughs to himself and Connor’s eagerness and grabs his papers._ _

__“Legally, I’m not permitted to say,” he replies swiftly, and Connor scoffs because this really _can’t_ be happening. This isn’t a joke, and Connor - _ _

__“You’ve got to be fucking _kidding_ me,” Connor sighs and the doctor quirks a brow, but Connor’s sixteen, not ten and abusing the ‘f-word’. The doctor meets Connor’s gaze. _ _

__“Look, he’s fine. Completely healthy,” and Connor doesn’t believe it, mostly, because he’s seen Dylan cry a lot in his lifetime and he’s barely cried at _all_. Not that Connor _wants_ to see Dylan cry, because he _doesn’t_ , but Connor -_ _

__“Take care of him, alright? Be a good friend,” the doctor pats Connor on the back and Connor cringes, mostly at the word ‘friend’ because that doesn’t define Connor McDavid and Dylan Strome. Not at all._ _

__

__So, yes, Dylan’s not sick. That doesn’t explain the first time he passes out on the ice._ _

__They’re at practice on a late Wednesday night, and he and Connor are sitting on the bench side by side. Connor glances at Dylan and he - Dylan looks like he’s seen a ghost, staring at the space in front of him._ _

__Connor leans into him. “Dylan?” he presses gently, and he gets no response. He repeats himself, and Dylan slowly turns to him, mouth agape, and Connor doesn’t _understand_. He opens his mouth to talk again, can’t, because his and Dylan’s line is going on for the scrimmage. Connor hops over the boards, and Dylan follows him, but - slowly. Coach is yelling, presumably at Dylan, and Connor wants to slap him. _ _

__Dylan’s skating, skating, trying to keep up until he isn’t, and Connor sees it coming from a mile away._ _

__It’s the way he drops his stick, and how his knees buckle that are the dead giveaways. And Connor, he’s about to receive the puck, but then he’s skating and he’s skating toward Dylan, watching him collapse onto the ice. Coach is running onto the ice, and a few other guys crowd around Dylan and him, but Coach pushes Connor out of the way._ _

__“Dylan? Can you hear me?” Coach is asking and Connor’s on his knees, someone’s got their hands on his shoulders and Connor can’t _see_. It’s like he has a whole cloud in front of him, but all he wants to _do_ is see Dylan. _ _

__Coach and Brinsky help Dylan up, eventually, and the rest of practice is cancelled, no surprise. Connor gets up, slowly, and thinks for a while. Thinks about hockey, thinks about himself, but he mostly thinks about Dylan._ _

__-_ _

__It hits Connor like a truck when he’s in love with Dylan. When he realizes it, at least._ _

__He’s in the locker room, Dylan’s beside him, and he forgets how to breathe. It’s just - Connor is so in love with Dylan Strome, and it’s hard to fathom it. Dylan’s leaning over, lacing his skates and Connor sits back, watches Dylan for a minute and it’s pretty much clarification. _I’m in love with Dylan,_ Connor thinks, and that’s that. _ _

__Dylan doesn’t play the whole game, leaves after the second period._ _

__It’s hard to convince Connor that Dylan’s not sick, now, and Connor _feels_ sick, when he has to go out on the ice without him. _ _

__They win, 2-1, and Connor was a minus one, but he can’t come close to caring when he has absolutely no idea where Dylan is._ _

__This time, when he leaves the rink and he’s got Dylan on his mind, he knows he’s in love, and that’s at least a start._ _

__-_ _

__PTSD. That’s what they diagnose Dylan with._ _

__Connor’s in the waiting room at the therapist, anxiously waiting for Dylan and his dad to come back. It’s been seven and a half minutes since Mr. Strome left and Connor - he just wants to know if Dylan’s okay._ _

__And Connor knows, on the inside, that Dylan’s _not_ okay, but he ignores the thought because Dylan deserves the world, doesn’t deserve to suffer in the slightest. _ _

__Connor stands up immediately when he sees Dylan, followed by his dad, and Dylan’s quickly brushing past Connor and into the parking lot to find the car. Connor looks at Mr. Strome, and he’s scared. They walk out together, not before whispers the four letter condition that’s been eating Dylan from the inside out._ _

__His breath catches and his heart hurts for Dylan, and when he sees him waiting at the car, hugging himself for warmth, Connor wants to hug him. Dylan avoids Connor’s gaze, when Connor looks at him, so he doesn’t. Dylan sits in the front next to his dad and Connor sits in the back, wondering why the universe decided to do this to them._ _

__-_ _

__They play a few more games. Win a couple, lose a couple. Dylan doesn’t play, Connor doesn’t score._ _

__It’s so _wrong_ , playing hockey without Dylan. Connor feels like absolutely nothing without him. His teammates notice, say things. _“Hey, Connor, how’s Dylan?”_ or _“Do you know when Dylan’s coming back?”_. And the worst fucking thing is that Connor doesn’t _know_ , he has no fucking _clue_ , just has to merely shake his head when someone asks. And it hurts, it hurts Connor that Dylan’s struggling like this. He doesn’t - he doesn’t want it to be like this. _ _

__And _god_ , to think that Dylan didn’t tell him _anything._ He’s the one who wants to _help_ him, but he hasn’t done shit at all. It doesn’t bode well for Connor, not when he can’t even see clearly in the first place. _ _

__They play a home game after a stretch of road ones, and Dylan comes._ _

__Connor notices when he’s skating behind the goal after a practice slapshot. Dylan’s standing behind the boards, dressed up in sweatpants and his team jacket, and Connor’s heart flips. He’s immediately skating toward the boards, toward Dylan, and the team doesn’t seem to skip a beat. Connor smiles, smiles when Dylan does, and he wishes there wasn’t this pane of glass so he could, like, hug him. Or something._ _

__Dylan lays his hand on this glass just - just instictly, Connor guesses. Dylan’s smiling, which is absolutely _everything_ to Connor, and he - Connor lays his hand on top of Dylan’s, and he’s never hated the boards so much. _ _

__Dylan blushes, Connor thinks he imagines, until there’s a whistle, and Connor might die._ _

__Dylan drops his hand from the boards and Connor echoes. He mouths _”go”_ , so Connor flashes him another bright smile before taking off and skating away. _ _

__He feels light, unbeatable. Thinks about how Dylan always makes him feel. Not just like this, _happy_ , but he _feels_ something when he’s with Dylan. Whether it’s happiness or sadness or worry or whatever the fuck. Connor feels _alive_ with Dylan. _ _

__So, Connor’s in the middle of a breakaway in warmups when he realizes that he’s _in love with Dylan._ It’s not really a surprise. He's always loved Dylan, since the day they've met, but this - Connor is in _love_ with him. _ _

__He goes high blocker, decides that it’s going to be a good night._ _

__They win, Connor finally scores, and he looks for Dylan in the stands when the game ends. He’s grinning, grinning and Connor, and Connor forgets about the game. He smiles, like the lovestruck idiot, and thinks that everything might be ok for a little while._ _

__

__Dylan stays over at Connor’s after, after the game, and it’s calm. They don’t speak, really, and Connor’s ok with that. He’s exhausted and he doesn’t want to push Dylan. He’s laid out on his bed, and Dylan’s pressed into his side. They’re both looking up at the ceiling, and Connor feels Dylan’s rising chest. His breaths are slow, even, and it’s still. Connor feels like he can’t move, like he can’t ruin the moment and Dylan -_ _

__Dylan buries his face into Connor’s neck, all of a sudden, and Connor is taken aback for a moment. He feels Dylan’s breaths quicken and he - Connor doesn’t know what to do._ _

__Dylan’s not crying, not yet. “Connor?” he asks, and his voice is so small, fucking _helpless_ and Connor is _lost_ here. Connor presses himself closer to Dylan, leans his head slightly toward Dylan’s._ _

__“Yeah, Dyl,” Connor says - whispers, really - right into Dylan’s ear, and Dylan shivers. Connor wants - Connor doesn’t know what he wants. He wants Dylan to be ok, he guesses._ _

__Dylan sucks in a breath, wet. “I want to do what my mom did,” and Connor freezes._ _

__Because Connor might be a damn good hockey player, but he’s such a shitty _friend_. _ _

__He feels Dylan shrivel, fall into him, and Connor turns toward Dylan, wrapping his arms around him protectively. Dylan leans his head into Connor’s neck, and Connor can feel his lips pressed against his skin. The dam in Dylan’s chest breaks, and he’s crying now, and Connor decides that he’s never going to let go. At all. Because he let _this_ happen, and - _ _

__Dylan’s mom killed herself. He’s _not_ letting Dylan do the same. _ _

__Connor shakes his head. “Please, Dyl,” and he doesn’t - he doesn’t know exactly what he’s saying ‘please’ to. For Dylan to stay here, with him, logically. Connor’s hand grazes Dylan’s jawline, and Dylan pulls back, just a little. His eyes are bloodshot, lower lip wet and swollen from biting it. But he’s - Dylan’s _beautiful_._ _

__Dylan’s hands shake, holding onto Connor. “Can I try something?” and Connor hears him, barely, nods. Dylan has a fistful of Connor’s t-shirt, unravels himself towards him, brushes his lips against Connor’s. Connor can’t remember how to breathe, and when Dylan pulls away looking absolutely fucking _terrified,_ Connor just closes his eyes and leans in again. _ _

__He doesn’t pull away, and neither does Dylan, and Connor doesn’t think it’s supposed to feel this good, to kiss someone like this._ _

__Breathing is an afterthought until Dylan pulls away once more, taking a breath. Connor catches his gaze, his messed up hair and red lips and Dylan blushes, smiling. Connor grins, falling back onto the mattress and Dylan following him. Because he’s not going anywhere, and neither is Dylan, and that itself is enough to live for._ _

**Author's Note:**

> i love dylan strome so much and i don't know WHERE THIS CAME FROM
> 
> also this is inspired by another fic i read that i think was mikey/nate but i don't. remember. so ;)


End file.
